


compulsion (or, how stefon meyers adjusted to the married life)

by stefonzolesky



Series: amalgamate (or, how stefon meyers joined the real world) [1]
Category: Saturday Night Live
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 05:55:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14074356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stefonzolesky/pseuds/stefonzolesky
Summary: Seth’s voice fades out and the music gets louder and the last thing Stefon remembers is dragging the vague outline of his fiancé’s hand towards the dancefloor and disappearing in the flashing lights.





	compulsion (or, how stefon meyers adjusted to the married life)

1.

Of course, it was inevitable. The thing is, jumping straight into a relationship like this is hard, and not hard like beating-Dan-Cortese-in-a-dance-competition hard, because Stefon still managed to do that in the end, (he’s not as slick as he might seem, and he’s kind of dumb and slow, like Derek Zoolander.) Like, actually hard.

Technically, he’s still Stefon Zolesky, (for the remainder of the month, actually.) He contemplates the idea of changing his last name as he unpacks his first suitcase in Seth Meyers’ bedroom. Stefon Meyers. Stefon Meyers. Stefon Meyers--

“You’re smitten,” Shy says from where he’s perched awkwardly on Seth’s bed. He tugs on his tie. “You’d better be glad that Seth isn’t here right now to listen to you go on about your names.”

Stefon feels his cheeks heat up a little, which is strange, because he doesn’t get embarrassed. He once gave Pierre (the Muslim Elvis impersonator) a lap dance. Embarrassment flies over his head.

“You know I don’t need you here anymore, right?” He tells Shy. “I just needed you to help me get my stuff into the house, because--”

“I know, I know,” Shy interrupts. “Because you can’t afford a U-Haul, because--”

“Because you charge so much,” Stefon interrupts, just to bite back at Shy. “I thought we were  _ friends.” _ He folds a pair of leather pants angrily in Shy’s direction. “But you charge me extra, like a little bitch.” He pauses to look Shy dead in the eyes.

Shy holds his hands in a surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave.” He laughs. “I have, like, half an hour to dick around before my next client.” He stands up, brushing nonexistent dirt off of his wrinkled pants that look like they’re made out of something weird, like elephant skin or velcro. they seem like something that Austrian fashion designer Brüno Gehard would wear, and Stefon makes a mental note to get himself a pair.

Seth gets home ten minutes later to Stefon struggling to turn a mesh shirt the right way out.

“Does this look right?” Stefon holds up the shirt, which he’s ninety-eight percent sure is inside out. Seth laughs and gives a faint nod, taking a seat on the bed.

“Are you settling in well?” He asks. Stefon doesn’t look at him as he nods, shoving the shirt into one of the drawers. “It’s getting late. I’m gonna turn in.”

“Are you sleeping in here?” Stefon asks him.

There’s an awkward silence. Stefon might as well hear crickets chirping.

“No,” Seth finally says. “I thought we should spend the first few nights in separate beds. I can sleep on the couch. I just think that we still need to…” He falters.

“Yeah,” Stefon cuts in. He sort of figured Seth would be weirded out by the ordeal, seeing as they’re getting married soon and only started dating a week earlier. “As soon as you’re ready, alright?”

“Alright,” Seth promises. He’s quiet, he’s reserved. Stefon likes that about him, he likes the contrast. It’s new, it’s different, not incompatable but a polarity that just seems to  _ work. _

“I know you said you’re gonna go to bed, but I was gonna go out tonight,” Stefon finally says, trying to break the awkward silence. “My sister wanted to celebrate with me. We’re going to  _ Slice _ , and she’s paying. If you wanna come.” He pauses. “I know it’s not really your scene.”

“You’re right,” Seth tells him, his eyes flicking over Stefon’s face. “But I’ll… I guess I’ll come, yeah. It can’t hurt.”

“It might,” Stefon warns him.

Seth rolls his eyes. “Don’t scare me out of it, alright?”

Stefon feels a grin spread across his face. “I’ll try my hardest.”

 

 

2. 

The night they agreed to get married, Stefon was drunk. He’s usually drunk, but that night specifically, it was hard for him  _ not _ to be drunk -- he was getting married to Anderson Cooper, and he was  _ not _ in love. He was lonely. He was desperate. He needed a game changer, and he needed it fast.

Seth had found him, and Seth had yelled his name in front of everyone, and Stefon had fled from that wedding like there was no tomorrow. They ran back to the studio hand in hand and Seth had shouted  _ let’s get married! _ and Stefon had shouted  _ yes!  _ and it was probably the best night of Stefon’s life so far.

Stefon spent the next three days coked out of his mind and drunk off bottles of vodka he had hidden under his bed for when family visited as he and Seth went through his stuff to decide what to keep and what to get rid of.

Now, he’s at the club with his sister and his new boyfriend-slash-husband-to-be, dissolving some weird orange tablet on his tongue and washing it down with a glowing green drink that smells like Sprite and Paul Rudd’s hair while Seth watches him with concern written across his face.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Seth asks him. Stefon shrugs and tries to focus on Seth’s face as it begins to ripple and spin. “I mean, I know you do this stuff all the time-...” Seth’s voice fades out and the music gets louder and the last thing Stefon remembers is dragging the vague outline of his fianc é ’s hand towards the dancefloor and disappearing in the flashing lights.

He wakes up on the couch with Seth in his arms. Early morning cartoons are playing quietly on the TV, and a bottle of vodka is laying next to the cracked remote on the ground. Seth’s face is red and his forehead is sweaty. Stefon’s brain feels like it’s about to explode, as per usual -- he can’t even begin to fathom how horrible poor, normal, vanilla Seth Meyers is going to feel once he wakes up.

Stefon slinks away, making sure that Seth’s head doesn’t bang down on the arm of the couch, and tries to find where he misplaced his phone so he can plug it in and check the time. Seth’s house has become disorderly from the night before, something Stefon thinks looks “good,” but Seth would probably describe as “trashed.”

It’s noon. Stefon scrounges the kitchen for not something that he enjoys, but for something he knows how to make that Seth would like, and decides that bacon and coffee is probably the best thing for Seth to wake up to after his night of partying.

Seth looks sickly when he wakes up. He looks nearly dead. Stefon is entirely fucking in love with him.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” He greets with a faint smile. Seth nearly collapses on a chair in the kitchen with a groan.

“How am I even  _ alive?” _ He asks, his voice more of a croak.

Stefon shrugs, sliding a cup of hot coffee in front of Seth. “I ask myself that same question every day.”

Seth manages a shaky smile, the red of his face having faded to a faint pink. “I’m amazed that you can do things like that all the time. It’s probably not healthy, right?”

“Oh, definitely not,” Stefon agrees. “But I’m fine, Seth Meyers. I promise.”

Seth leans forwards just enough to catch Stefon’s lips. Stefon can’t believe that he isn’t still fucked up; that this is actually happening.

“I’m one lucky bastard,” He says, more to remind himself than anything else.

 

3.

The wedding comes and goes, and it’s the one day of Stefon’s life that he’s completely sober because he doesn’t want to risk forgetting a second of it.

Well, not completely sober. That night, after the wedding, he and Seth split a bottle of wine by the pool of the hotel that they decided to stay out because it’s a  _ special occasion, _ and they kiss under the sunset, and it’s the first time in years that Stefon falls asleep before eleven o’clock at night.

He can’t say that he didn’t have doubts about the wedding, because he  _ did  _ \-- he and Seth were only dating for about a month before they got married, and that’s terrifying -- but it couldn’t have been more perfect. Every doubt faded the second that Seth said “I do,” so sure of himself, so confident, so perfect.

Stefon doesn’t doubt the way he feels about Seth. What he  _ does _ doubt is the way Seth feels about  _ him _ .

“Why do you like me?” He asks one morning, about a week after the wedding. Seth is reading the newspaper over coffee, and Stefon is halfway through a bottle of spiked Sunny-D.

Seth glances up, eyebrows knitted. “What do you mean?”

Stefon shrugs and takes another gulp of his Sunny-D. “I mean, why did you give in? Why did you marry me?”

Seth’s nose scrunches up in the endearing way that it always does when he’s thinking.

“It hurt,” He finally says, “when I thought you were gonna marry someone that wasn’t me. I banked on you always being there.”

“But, like,” Stefon struggles to put his thoughts into words. “Did you ever think, ‘Hey, maybe this isn’t for me?’ Did you ever consider finding a boring guy to marry instead? Like, one who does crossword puzzles, and goes to bed at eight o’clock?”

Seth laughs, and it catches Stefon off guard. “Are you serious?” He asks. “Stefon, I love  _ you.”  _

Stefon starts to calm down when he says that, starts to veer away from his path towards the anxiety that usually only chokes him out when it’s late and he’s coked out of his fucking mind.

“Yeah, I was scared,” Seth continues. “I’m  _ still _ scared. But that doesn’t mean I’d rather marry someone other than you. I’d much prefer to figure this out with you, not some rando who goes to bed at eight.”

“But if he went to bed at eight  _ and _ did crossword puzzles?” Stefon asks, a faint smile on his lips.

Seth throws his head back when he laughs. “I dunno. Then, we might have a problem.” He pauses, still smiling as the laughter fades. “But, for real. I wouldn't worry about it. Like, at all. This seems like the best possible turnout.” He pauses again. “Were you really gonna marry Anderson Cooper?”

“Probably not,” Stefon admits. “He’s fine, but he’s no Seth Meyers.”

“And I’m not too boring for you?” Seth prods jokingly.

Stefon sits down next to Seth, wrapping an arm around his waist and using his free hand to turn Seth’s head to face him. “Not even,” He says, biting down on his lip before he leans forward to kiss Seth.

There’s a moment of silence -- Seth returns to his newspaper and his coffee and Stefon returns to trying to drug himself up enough to face the day -- before Seth speaks up again.

“You know why I was so confident about it?” He asks, not looking up from his newspaper.

“Hm?” Stefon makes a noise in questioning, trying to seem nonchalant, though he desperately wants to know. “Why’s that?”

Seth flips over his newspaper, and then leans forward on his elbows. He shifts to face his husband. “You’re friend Shy called me,” He says. “He wanted to know if I had cold feet, or whatever. I told him I was nervous, and that I thought we might be rushing into things.” He laughs. “And, I mean, we were. But it was definitely worth it. And he told me that you were smitten; that you didn’t have a single doubt. So I was sold. I knew that this was what we were supposed to do.”

“Oh, Seth Meyers,” Stefon croons, trying to keep himself from getting overly-emotional. “You are a total sap.”

“I love you too,” Seth laughs out, returning to his newspaper once again.

 

4. 

Stefon’s habits set down… a crack, in their marriage. The basis of something that could break down at any given moment. 

Stefon shows up at home at three in the morning, fucked up beyond belief, for the fifth night in a row. Seth is waiting for him, obviously tired as all-fuck and  _ disappointed, _ he’s  _ so _ disappointed, and it just makes Stefon want to fuck himself up even more, because that  _ can’t be his fault, can it? _

Seth smiles at him weakly, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He pats the spot next to him on the couch.

Stefon sits next to him carefully, like the couch might burn him, and says something like “What’s this all about?” but he isn’t sure, because he can’t even hear himself think. It’s like there’s a gong banging inside of his head with every move.

“It’s, uh…” Seth frowns. He opens his mouth to say something else, to finish his sentence, but Stefon interrupts him.

“Are you okay?” He asks, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind -- Seth isn’t okay, something is wrong, this is bad, this is bad, this is bad.

“I’m fine,” Seth says, and his voice cracks. “Where have you been?”

Stefon rubs his thumbs together. He doesn’t look at Seth, he just stares at his hands. They don’t look the way they should, they’re twirling and falling to the ground and the ground is spinning and Stefon can’t bring himself to focus no matter how hard he tries.

“I was at Twice,” He explains quietly, trying to keep his voice steady. “Shy wanted to go somewhere, because he had the night off, and I know you don’t--...” He falters when his voice breaks, but he powers through. “I know you don’t like it when I go out like that, but this is the-- It can be the last time, I can--” But he stops, because he knows that he can’t promise that, and while his memory is hazy, he’s sure that’s exactly what he’s been saying every other morning when he comes home.

Seth hesitates. “I don’t want to change who you are,” He tells Stefon. His voice is soft, full of ‘can I say…?’ or ‘should I say…?’ “But I also don’t want to wake up one morning to you fucking yourself over so badly that I might never see you again.”

That’s the tipping point. That’s where the flood takes over, and Stefon finds himself hyperventilating against his husband’s chest, mumbling what is supposed to be “I’m sorry” over and over and over again but could very well just be gibberish because his head isn’t screwed on straight and it hasn’t been for weeks.

Seth rubs his hair and kisses the top of his head and falls asleep on the couch. Stefon isn’t tired. Stefon carries him to bed.

He stays awake and sober for three days, surviving on coffee and frozen chicken fingers. He's sure he looks terrible, and he knows he  _ feels _ terrible, but he'll do whatever it takes to make sure Seth is never disappointed in him like that again.

On the fourth night, Seth pulls him down to the bed.

“Go to sleep,” He says tiredly.

Stefon lays down, reluctant. He clings to Seth like he might lose him, and mumbles, “I’m sorry for making you worry.”

“It’s okay,” Seth promises, his voice slurring. He yawns. “It’s okay.”

“I love you,” Stefon says.

Seth is already asleep.


End file.
